


Dream of You

by mymoon4ndstars



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Song Lyrics, kind of, no beta we die like men, sorry - Freeform, the whole thing is ambiguous, you don't see it happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 12:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymoon4ndstars/pseuds/mymoon4ndstars
Summary: Morning, noon and night time too.All Arthur does the whole day through, is dream of Eames.Character death is strongly implied but not explicitly mentioned!
Relationships: Ariadne/Robert Fischer, Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Kudos: 4





	Dream of You

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't meant to be sad but it kinda wrote itself that way? I'm so sorry... The whole thing is kind of ambiguous, it is Inception after all. Also how we doing almost 11 years on Inception fandom? Getting random fic ideas when you listen to music at 1am? Yeah me neither lol
> 
> Very heavily inspired by the version of 'All I Do Is Dream of You' by Faultline and Dodie.
> 
> I hope you like it~

_All I do the whole night through_   
_Is dream of you_

He rolls over in the hotel bed, blinking at the red numbers on the old digital alarm clock on the bedside table. Only two hours at the most.

He sighs and sits up, taking the small loaded die from his trouser pocket and rolling it on the table.

Three white dots look up at him.

He contemplates trying to sleep again, but the image of tawny hair and a smirk that drives him mad makes him reconsider. There's only a few hours until his alarm would go off anyway.

_And with the dawn I still go on_   
_Dreaming of you_

He stands and looks out of the window, watching the dawn arriving over the rooftops of Paris. He shouldn’t be here, at least not so close to where they worked.

He couldn’t help it though, when the girl that had so quickly become a close friend had reached out to him.

The pale blue sky was sure to bring a sunny day, but for now he watches the purple and pink hues of the clouds above, the gentle orange rays shimmering across the street below. He runs a hand through his hair and steps out onto the miniscule balcony, watching the hours pass.

He rolls his die on the rusting metal table.

Three again.

He lets out a slow breath and goes back into the room to get ready for the day.

_And were there more than twenty four_   
_Hours a day_

When they meet in a quiet café half an hour’s walk from the hotel, it’s with gentle words of comfort and reassurance. He does his best to make her laugh, to take her mind off of the news.

He tries to take his own mind off the thought - the horrible, dreadful thought - that this was all real.

_They’d be spent in sweet content_   
_Just dreaming away_

It doesn’t take long for the topic of conversation to turn to what happened. He still doesn’t quite believe that it’s real, and he tells her so.

She explains quietly, sympathetically, that when she heard the news she had checked her totem for almost an hour, despite her boyfriend’s questions.

They talk about him next, and of how unbelievable it was that not only had the inception worked, but the god damn mark had shown up at her university. The two had genuinely hit it off, and it seemed to be going okay.

He was happy for her.

_When skies are grey_   
_When skies are blue_

It’s not a surprise that he leaves quickly. She knows it’s not personal, and that the short time they had together was a miracle in itself. He has other things to do.

He meets with Miles, who passes along his condolences, asking if they were close. He shakes his head, struggling to find the words. They weren’t close as co-workers, unless you counted the arguments – no, bickering. No. It was teasing… Flirting. They were as close as anyone could be to another person. What do you call it when you knew someone better than you know yourself?

_Morning_   
_Noon_   
_And night time too_

He sits on a bench at the banks of the Seine, looking at the river without seeing. They used to walk down here together. First it was an accident, one just behind the other. Then on purpose, on a food or caffeine run. Later it was leisure that brought them here, the backs of hands brushing and longing looks lingering.

_All I do the whole day through_   
_Is dream of you_

He gets back to the hotel and packs quickly. There isn’t much. He leaves for a flight to New Zealand.

On the plane he watches the clouds, his hand often reaching to the empty seat beside him. His fingers close around thin air and he chokes back tears. Not yet, he tells himself.

He folds out the tray in front of him and rolls his die.

Three.

_You’re every thought_   
_You’re everything_

When he gets home he can finally breathe again. He unlocks the door to their little cottage, what they fondly referred to as the hobbit hole, and finds his way through the darkness easily.

He sits on the edge of their bed, suitcase by the bedroom door, and rolls his die on the bedside table.

The table is made of glass and the die makes a satisfying clatter in the quiet.

Three.

_You’re every song I ever sing_

He tries to settle back into a routine, but little things throw him off.

He makes a cup of tea in the morning alongside his coffee and has a breakdown that lasts long enough both drinks go cold. He pours them down the sink and doesn’t make any more.

A letter that arrives addressed to Mr Eames makes his throat close up and he can’t look at it, he can’t be here. He can’t do this anymore.

He rolls his die on the coffee table that Eames had picked out.

Three.

_Summer_   
_Winter_   
_Autumn_   
_And spring_

He wakes up in their bed and blinks at the man laying next to him. Sleep dazed eyes blink back at him and they share a smile, reaching for each other. They ignore the warm winter sun peeking through the blinds. They’re not in any rush.

They spend the day like they often did between jobs, sharing quiet comments, playful looks, gentle touches. He reads a book and his lover sketches, both enjoying the slight breeze in their garden.

He doesn’t roll his die.

He knows what it would show him.

_Just dreaming away_

When they lay in bed that night he lets himself cry. His sobs tear through his body and his lover comforts him, holding him close. He doesn’t understand, not fully, but he doesn’t need to. All he needs is his lover’s embrace.

He knows he can’t stay.

He doesn’t roll his die.

_All I do the whole night through_   
_Is dream of you_

He rolls over and tucks himself under his lover’s arms, kissing him awake gently.

“Hmm, good morning Darling.” His smirk is teasing but gentle. “What did I do to earn such a lovely wake up call?”

“I love you Eames, that’s all.”


End file.
